


I really, really, really...

by Marishna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Annoyance, Graduate Student Derek, M/M, Neighbors, Shy Derek, elaborate schemes, pop songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marishna/pseuds/Marishna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek resisted the urge to beat his head against his desk once the next remix of “I Really Like You” started. There were either an infinite number of them or his neighbour had them on repeat. </p>
<p>For three days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I really, really, really...

**Author's Note:**

> Feels weird not to post anything after 31 days straight. So here we are, with a heavy Carly Rae Jepsen influence. Blame Spotify.

The idiot next door had a subscription to Spotify and a hardon for Carly Rae Jepsen.

Derek resisted the urge to beat his head against his desk once the next remix of “I Really Like You” started. There were either an infinite number of them or his neighbour had them on repeat.    


For three days.

He was courteous about it, by apartment life standards. He didn’t start playing the songs until after 11am (which was actually beyond courteous) and turned the music off promptly at 10pm.   


He didn’t play it for eleven hours straight, but in bursts that interrupted Derek’s concentration on his dissertation. At one point he zoned out and actually typed, “I need to tell you so--” before he realized and backspaced hard enough he feared for his laptop.

Derek knew who his neighbour was, a kid named Stiles.  Well, not a _kid_. He was probably in his last year of undergrad, new to the building this year. He was tall and lanky and constantly had something in his mouth but Derek didn’t know if it was subconscious or intentional to attempt to keep his rambling to a minimum (and to drive Derek crazy).

It didn’t work.

Every time Derek got caught on the elevator with him he stood in the back corner and prayed Stiles didn’t start talking to him because then he’d have to reply and under the scrutiny of Stiles’ gaze he basically shit the bed. So one-word answers and prayers to the elevator gods to get them safely to the lobby as quickly as possible were always made.

This seemed to disappoint Stiles but it never stopped him from trying again. He was the epitome of the Little Engine that Could. Except he was the Mouth that Never Stopped and once that name (and image) was in Derek’s head it followed him everywhere. Like in bed at night, and in the shower in the morning, and while he tried to work on his dissertation.

Another mix started and Derek ran his hands through his hair in frustration. It was getting to the point where Derek “needed to tell ya somethin’” to his neighbour before he punched through the wall.   


Derek pushed back from his desk and mentally prepared what he was going to say, how he’d approach the situation and ask ( _yes, politely Laura_ , he snarked at his sister who must have burning ears right now) if the music could stop or, at the very least, be turned down.

He smoothed a hand down his shirt before leaving his apartment and then shook his head because Stiles wore graphic t-shirts that looked like they were picked off the floor every morning. Derek did _not_ find that cavalier attitude toward his wardrobe and outward appearance intriguing and adorable.

He didn’t.

_Shut up, Laura._

He knocked lightly, a simple rap on the door.  But with the current remix the sound could easily have been mistaken for part of the beat so Derek took a deep breath and knocked again, hard.

A new remix started right before the door flew open.

Stiles was in one of the aforementioned t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, glasses shoved crookedly on his nose (since when did he wear _glasses_?), and a pencil hanging out of his mouth. His eyes widened when as he took Derek in and oh shit, the guy was scared of him.

“Uh, hi. I came over to see if you could tur--“

“Finally!” Stiles interrupted him, pulling the pencil out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re here about the music?” Stiles asked, eyes shining. Derek nodded and Stiles fist pumped enthusiastically.   


“Um...” Derek wasn’t sure what to say.

"I thought you’d get the message sooner, not gonna lie,” Stiles said with a grin, leaning against his door frame.

“Message?” Derek was _so_ confused.

“The song?” Stiles jerked his thumb behind him at his computer that was still rotating the remixes.

Derek stared at Stiles.  “Are you calling your home planet or something?”

Stiles barked out a laugh and shook his head. “I thought you’d pick up on this way quicker but you have a high pain tolerance it seems. I was hoping you’d swing by and I could let the song do the talking for me.”

Derek stared harder. “What are you saying?”

Stiles blinked. “Wow. Derek, I’m saying that I need to tell you something--I really, really, really, really, really like you.”

“Oh.” Derek straightened, surprised. His eyes darted around, wondering if this was a prank of some kind. A very elaborate prank.  


Stiles eyed him. “Tell you what. I’ll stop the music if you go out for coffee with me.”   


“Are you serious?” Derek asked. This was all for _him_?

“Yes.”

“About the coffee?”

Stiles looked surprised now. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay. Yes,” Derek said with a shrug. Stiles’ mouth dropped open for a second before he snapped out of it and ran to his computer and shut off the music.

“Oh, thank god!” he exclaimed.

Derek cocked his head.

“I’ve been waiting for you to snap for _three days_ , man!”

“You played remixes of that song in hopes I’d come tell you turn it off?” Derek asked, blinking.

“Well, yeah. At the least we’d have a non-elevator based conversation in which you’d say more than three words. At the best, well, it happened!” Stiles explained, looking shocked his plot worked. 

Derek felt his cheeks get warm and he ducked his head shyly; someone went to all this trouble for _him_.

“Tell you what,” he said quietly so Stiles had to step closer. “You give me three hours of pop song-free time and we’ll get that coffee this evening.”

Stiles grinned wildly and nodded enthusiastically. Derek started to go back to his apartment but paused, “Oh, and Stiles? I really, really, really, really like you, too.”


End file.
